For a moment it seemed to Bernardine as though she must surely fall dead
from fright as her startled gaze encountered her greatest enemy, Jasper
Wilde.
Had he followed her? Had he come all the way on the same train with her?
She realized that she was alone with him on this isolated railway
platform, miles perhaps from any habitation, any human being, far beyond
the reach of help.
The thick, heavy twilight had given place to a night of intense
darkness. The flickering light of the solitary gas-lamp over the station
door did not pierce the gloom more than three feet away. Bernardine did
not know this, and she sunk back in deadly fear behind one of the large,
old-fashioned, square posts. The long dark cloak and bonnet she wore
would never betray her presence there.
Bernardine soon became aware that he had not seen her, for he stopped
short scarcely a rod from her, drew out his watch, and looked at the
time; then, with a fierce imprecation on his lips, he cried aloud:
"Missed the train by just one minute! Curse the luck! But then it's
worth my trip here, and the trouble I've been put to, to know that the
Mrs. Jay Gardiner in question is some New York society belle instead of
Bernardine. Ah, if it were Bernardine, I would have followed him to the
end of the earth and murdered him; taken her from him _by force_, if no
other way presented itself. I love the girl to madness, and yet _I hate
her_ with all the strength of my nature!"
As he uttered the words, he wheeled about, hurried down the platform,
and stepped into the darkness, the sound of his quick tread plainly
dying away in the distance.
It seemed to Bernardine that her escape from the clutches of Jasper
Wilde was little short of miraculous. Trembling in every limb, she
stepped out from behind the large pillar which shielded her.
He had not come by the same train; he did not know she was here. But
what caused him to come to this place to look for Jay Gardiner and his
bride? Perhaps it was because he had learned in some way that a family
named Gardiner resided here, and he had come out of his way only to
discover that they were _not_ one and the same.
While Bernardine was ruminating over this, she saw the short, thick-set
figure of a man approaching.
Should she advance or retreat? She felt sure he had seen her. He stopped
quite short and looked at her.
"Surely _you_ can't be Miss Moore?" he inquired, incredulously.
"Yes," replied Bernardine in a voice in which he detected tears.
The man muttered something under his breath which she did not quite
catch.
"If you please, Miss, where is your luggage?"
"I--I have only this hand-bag," she faltered.
"Come this way, miss," he said; and Bernardine followed him, not without
some misgiving, to the end of the platform from which Jasper Wilde had
so recently disappeared.
Here she saw a coach in waiting, though she had not heard the sound of
the horses' hoofs when they arrived there.
Then came a long ride over a level stretch of country. It was a great
relief to Bernardine to see the moon come forth at last from a great
bank of black clouds; it was a relief to see the surrounding country,
the meadows, and the farm-houses lying here and there on either side of
the steep road up which they went.
"Would the lady like her or be displeased with her?" she asked herself.
She determined to throw herself heart and soul into her work and try to
forget the past--what might have been had her lover proved true, instead
of being so cruelly false. Her red lips quivered piteously at the
thought.
Her musings were brought to an end by the lumbering coach turning in at
a large gate-way flanked by huge stone pillars, and proceeding leisurely
up a wide road that led through a densely wooded park.
Very soon Bernardine beheld the house--a granite structure with no end
of gables and dormer-windows--half hidden by climbing vines, which gave
to the granite pile a very picturesque appearance just now, for the
vines were literally covered with sweet-scented honeysuckles in full
bloom.
Mrs. King, the housekeeper, received Bernardine.
"I hope you will like it here," she said, earnestly; "but it is a dull
place for one who is young, and longs, as girls do, for gayety and life.
You are too tired to see Mrs. Gardiner to-night after your long journey.
I will show you to your room after you have had some tea."
The housekeeper was right in her surmise. It did look like an
inexpressibly dreary place when Bernardine looked about at the great
arched hall.
Grand old paintings, a century old, judging by their antiquated look,
hung upon the walls. A huge clock stood in one corner, and on either
side of it there were huge elk heads, with spreading antlers tipped with
solid gold.
To add to the strangeness of the place, a bright log fire burned in a
huge open fire-place, which furnished both light and heat to the main
corridor.
"This fire is never allowed to burn out, either in summer or winter,"
the housekeeper explained, "because the great hall is so cold and gloomy
without it."
While Bernardine was drinking her tea, a message came to her that Mrs.
Gardiner would see her in her _boudoir_.
The housekeeper led the way through a long corridor, and when she
reached the further end of it, she turned toward the right, and drawing
aside the heavy crimson velvet _portieres_, Bernardine was ushered into
a magnificent apartment.
The windows were of stained glass, ornamented with rare pictures,
revealed by the light shining through them from an inner room; the
chandeliers, with their crimson globes, gave a deep red glow to the
handsome furnishings and costly bric-a-brac. There was something about
the room that reminded Bernardine of the pictures her imagination had
drawn of Oriental _boudoirs_.
Her musings were interrupted by the sound of a haughty voice saying:
"Are _you_ Miss Bernardine Moore?"
By this time Bernardine's eyes had become accustomed to the dim,
uncertain light. Turning her head in the direction whence the sound
proceeded, she saw a very grand lady, dressed in stiff, shining brocade
satin, with rare lace and sparkling diamonds on her breast and fair
hands, sitting in a crimson velvet arm-chair--a grand old lady, cold,
haughty, and unbending.
"Yes, madame," replied Bernardine, in a sweet, low voice, "I am Miss
Moore."
"You are a very much younger person than I supposed you to be from your
letter, Miss Moore. Scarcely more than a child, I should say," she
added, as she motioned Bernardine to a seat with a wave of the hand. "I
will speak plainly," she went on, slowly. "I am disappointed. I imagined
you to be a young lady of uncertain age--say, thirty or thirty-five.
When a woman reaches that age, and has found no one to marry her, there
is a chance of her becoming reconciled to her fate. I want a companion
with whom I can feel secure. I do not want any trouble with love or
lovers, above all. I would not like to get used to a companion, and have
her leave me for some man. In fine, you see, I want one who will put all
thought of love or marriage from her."
Bernardine held out her clasped hands.
"You need have no fear on that score, dear madame," she replied in a
trembling tone. "I shall never love--I shall never marry. I--I never
want to behold the face of a man. Please believe me and trust me."
"Since you are here, I may as well take you on trial," replied the grand
old lady, resignedly. "Now you may go to your room, Miss Moore. You will
come to me here at nine to-morrow morning," she said, dismissing
Bernardine with a haughty nod.
The housekeeper had said she would find the room that had been prepared
for her at the extreme end of the same corridor, and in groping her way
to it in the dim, rose-colored light which pervaded the outer hall, she
unconsciously turned in the wrong direction, and went to the right
instead of the left.
The door stood ajar, and thinking the housekeeper had left it in this
way for her, Bernardine pushed it open.
To her great astonishment, she found herself in a beautifully furnished
sleeping apartment, upholstered in white and gold of the costliest
description, and flooded by a radiance of brilliant light from a grand
chandelier overhead.
But it was not the magnificent hangings, or the long mirrors, in their
heavy gilt frames, that caught and held the girl's startled gaze.
It was a full-length portrait hanging over the marble mantle, and it
startled her so that she uttered a low cry, and clasped her little hands
together as children do when uttering a prayer.
Her reverie lasted only for a moment. Then she drifted back to the
present. She was in this strange house as a companion, and the first
thing she came across was the portrait, as natural as life itself,
of--Jay Gardiner!
A mad desire came over her to kneel before the picture and--die!